


Ashes

by bloodonthesnowdrops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodonthesnowdrops/pseuds/bloodonthesnowdrops
Summary: Someday he’s going to kill her. And she won’t say a single word putting her life in his hands. It wasn't worth anything anyway. Not anymore.And maybe in the next life they will be reborn as beautiful phoenixes. As something exceptional and wonderful and worthy. Now they were just two piles of ashes, twirling and intertwining in the air, as the cold flow of the wind swept them off the marble floor.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Ashes

The Potions class ended about fifteen minutes ago but she didn’t really remember how it went.

Void. A void in her head, in her heart.

Numb to everything happening in the outside world, Hermione felt like every sound was somehow muffled. Her vision blurred like there was this huge glass wall between her and the other students. She remembered muttering something when asked during class as if it was almost an instinct – after all she _did_ have all the books memorized by now. She remembered Slughorn nodding and continuing to rant about some potion not noticing what a mess one of his best students turned into.

Hermione didn’t raise her hand anymore, she never sat in the front row. What was the point? – She had no motivation to be the best.

Life was a joke. Ambition meant nothing.

She felt tainted. Empty.

She wished she’d died in that war.

Maybe it already happened and she just didn’t notice?

Her heart was beating, her skin was warm, she was still able to talk and breathe. Hermione was alive, felt her veins pulsing and limbs moving but for some reason, all of it seemed wrong. Apathy swallowed her, and Hermione wasn’t strong enough to fight it. It came in waves and yet still felt constant and everlasting. The girl ate her dinner sitting beside her friends while they discussed some numerology essay. Like it was completely normal. Like dread wasn’t eating on them. Their smiles were so broad and sincere Hermione felt sick. She managed some sort of a wan smile in response once in a while just to blend in.

_Don’t raise suspicion. Don’t make your friends see there’s something wrong with you. Don’t make them suffer any more than they already have._

The girl made sure to hide her hands in the sleeves of her robe just so they wouldn’t see her bitten nails and trembling fingers.

She had it under control at the moment. Hermione could be among other people without looking like a corpse. And all that thanks to the batch of the Calming Draught brewed in the secret of the girls’ lavatory and currently safely kept in the trunk next to her bed. Multiple vials of the Dreamless Sleep were placed next to it, and Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn’t abusing her stash more frequently than was advised. She was addicted to it. Addicted to being numb. She couldn’t function, couldn’t exist, couldn't go a day without being under some kind of potion. She knew it wasn’t healthy, knew it could very well kill her but didn’t give a damn about it.

Let it.

Let it drive her mad. She craved it.

Only… _It didn’t fucking help._

She never spent time at the Gryffindor common room, never went to Hogsmeade for the weekend constantly making up excuses.

Hermione felt like she didn’t deserve to enjoy life anymore. So many people died to let her live. She was drowning in survivor's guilt and felt it pulling on her legs, deeper, _deeper,_ to the very bottom of that pit. Her life wasn’t worth more than Fred’s, Lavender’s, Lupin’s or Tonks’, certainly not more than her parents’. Those ghosts lived in her head and fed on her life energy. _She_ _didn’t_ _mind._ The Order of Merlin, First Class, all the praise – useless. Fake. It was no consolation. It didn’t stop the nightmares, didn’t erase the memories. She still heard the screams, the crying of her own classmates and family, still could smell the stench of blood and taste metal on her tongue.

She wanted to scream so loud her lungs gave out. Anything to stop the ringing in her head.

There were no more tears. She spent it all months ago.

Hermione wasn’t strong. Not anymore.

She left the Gryffindor courage, sympathy, pride right there on the bloody ground, next to her classmates’ bodies.

They said it was post-traumatic stress, that it was normal. It would pass. Hermione heard it so often, she felt those words engraved somewhere at the back of her skull. The therapist from St. Mungo’s tried to talk to her but only saw the blank page while looking into her eyes. He saw the burned battlefield.

It didn't get any better.

_Her mind was decaying._

Funny. The brightest witch of her age. Dead by the age of eighteen.

The pain was so strong, so consuming, and insufferable. Burning her lungs from the inside, puncturing her intestines. And there was only one thing capable of numbing it at least for a little while.

Only one person.

Someone who knew exactly how she felt.

Another ghost in the room, usually sitting a few rows to her right, he had the same blank stare, filled with hatred and sorrow. He was burning the scrolls with his eyes and wringing his fingers. They were so alike in their misery and, frankly speaking, it was sickening to think they had _anything_ in common. His hair was a white stain in the darkness of the classroom, almost silver just like his eyes.

Hermione forced herself not to look his way. He did the same.

Leaving the room, Hermione smiled politely at Harry and Ginny, knowing the two would probably head towards the Main Hall for dinner and hurried in the opposite direction. Gryffindor tower. It broke her heart to look at Ron, the lost look on his face - like an abandoned bloody puppy.

Whatever was between them at the start of this war… it didn’t matter anymore. It died a long time ago. She avoided him, his attempts to talk to her, his lingering touches. So foreign. So wrong. _Devastating_. He was a living reminder of the war. Hermione couldn't do that to him – couldn't return his feelings, give false hope that she’d someday recover, and everything would go back to normal. She knew she was fading. She’d probably never be her past self again.

Ron didn’t need a tailor's dummy instead of a girlfriend. He'd be better off without her. 

So, she kept on going, suffocating, choking on her guilt, clutching onto her books. The girl didn’t dare look back.

When a strong hand suddenly pulled her to the side, Hermione could only master a squeal before being pressed against a cold wall. She hissed at the contact. Quickly acknowledging that she’s been dragged into a prefect’s bath, Hermione bit her tongue. The stuffiness of the room and the strong scent of some apple shower gel made her dizzy. One click of the door lock and she was positively stuck there with no way out.

Hermione hit the back of her head but she hardly noticed the pain, feeling the ragged breath on her face and meeting the silver eyes. They were as sharp as blades.

Her personal demon with burning hatred and raged desire in his eyes. The demon by the name of Draco-bloody-Malfoy.

She choked on the feeling before his thin warm lips violently crashed into hers. So desperately, so callously, punishing and stealing air, and Hermione knew he’d leave bruises. She answered the kiss without thinking twice.

Perhaps, she’d fallen too low letting _a Death Eater_ have any kind of power over her. Her conscious be damned. There was no room for disapproval. The only thing she wanted was to let go of all the unnecessary thoughts and feel his burning body as close as possible.

She arched her back, slamming their chests together as if she wanted to dissolve in the heat of him. Hermione felt her knees tremble from the tension and the need. Digging her fingers in his hair, feeling the softness of the white tresses, she pulled at it and heard him hiss into her mouth. Draco bit her lower lip as revenge. It was a fight with no winners. A war requesting blood and pain. 

Closer. Closer. _Dissolving. Dying._ Malfoy tasted like mint and desperation. Bittersweet. His scent was disgustingly pleasant and arousing, sharpening all the senses. He was everywhere, surrounding her and making her pliable. Her body was clay in his hands.

The reality was questionable next to Malfoy. 

It was so easy – losing her head in his presence. And it’s exactly why she was here. No other reason.

Both of them were oblivious to the fact when exactly all of it had started. War. Summer. Seventh year all over again. Felt like their affair was eternal. One day their lips joined in the darkness and they never pulled apart. They were full of confusion, lingering pain, frustration, and anger – it felt like the most natural thing to ever happen. Epiphany.

They punished themselves, looked in the face of their rage, and told themselves that it was exactly what they deserved. Decaying.

Malfoy broke down after the war.

He started slowly shattering at the beginning of the Sixth year. Ever since the epitome of darkness, this vile loathsome creature, had taken residence at Malfoy Manor. The things Draco did and saw… He wanted to wring his own neck. Couldn't escape the detesting smell, rotten memories no matter what he did. Hard to count the times he truly considered taking his own life.

When the Wizengamot condemned his father to the Kiss, Narcissa lost it and ended up in St. Mungo’s chained to the bed for the rest of her life. Draco didn’t want to live. The pariah in the Wizarding World, detested by the public. Rogue wizard with no place in the world, with no one by his side. His pure blood meant nothing – it was his own death sentence.

Malfoy loathed himself so much he wanted to rip out his heart with his own bare hands. And being with Granger was the only way to let out all the suppressed anger eating at him.

Hurting each other was their new addiction. It was never enough.

When Malfoy squeezed her thighs so hard Granger hissed, she knew full well that tomorrow she’d see marks of his fingers on her body. And she loved it. His hand slid up her body, slowly running over her stomach, between the breasts, making her gasp from that tiny moment of tenderness, and then Draco grabbed her by the throat. He pinned her to the wall, breathing fiercely into her chin - like a dragon - and because of the significant difference in their height, it seemed that he was everywhere, enveloping her, absorbing her, _enslaving her_. His fingers dug relentlessly into her neck, the vein there pulsing between his phalanges.

The girl let out a hoarse moan but didn't dare look away.

“Like it, Granger?” he hissed tracing her skin with his breath, his lips lingering on her cheek. Like a predator about to finish off his prey. “That’s right. It’s exactly what you deserve, filth.”

Hermione knew that.

Both of them were practically shaking from the tension. One push, the press of his fingers and he’d snap her neck at once. This feeling of being on the brink of death, the thrill and arousal – it was something ethereal. Hermione opened her dry lips gasping for air and their eyes met once again. Like exposed wires dropped into the water.

“Still so prejudiced and full of yourself,” she huffed, a bitter wry smile on her face. “Look where your beliefs got you, Malfoy.” She felt his fingers twitch. “You’re a nobody. Just as filthy as I am.”

He snorted, ignoring her insults.

“If you only knew how much I want to snap your little neck,” Malfoy gulped.

“I do,” Hermione inhaled. “What else could you expect from a Death Eater?”

Granger knew he wouldn’t do it – won’t kill her. Felt it with every fiber of her being. He got close so many times but stopped. She learned his every movement by heart.

Draco frowned and growled; his eyes filled with ominous, merciless darkness. The eyes of a true beast that didn't know what humanity was.

Someday he’s going to kill her. And she won’t say a single word putting her life in his hands. It wasn't worth anything anyway. Not anymore.

He let go of his hold as soon as felt her press further into him. Enough with the games and threats.

The small hands were cold as they slid down Draco's neck, touched the hot, burning skin, making every muscle in his body tense, and then quickly began to undo the buttons of his white shirt. The unbearable pull in her lower stomach was driving her crazy. Like a feline, Hermione rubbed herself against him, trying to get as close as possible, squeezing her eyes shut. She needed to feel her head spin, to see sparks from the pressure.

Hermione knew he’d snap. He wanted her just as much as she craved him. No matter how much they hated themselves for that. Malfoy hated the way he enjoyed her dirty mouth on his, the way he liked her touches, the way his body reacted to her. He was rock hard from the moment he pushed her into the wall. Possessing her was intoxicating.

Draco pressed into her, letting the girl feel the state of his arousal, and growled impatiently. She shivered and moaned into his mouth. Hermione thrived knowing how confused his desire made him feel. She wanted him inside of her as soon as possible, couldn't bear feeling cloth separating their bodies. She needed him to fill her up, make her forget, make her quake with desire. She wanted him to split her in half, stretch her until it hurt, until she was a trembling incoherent mess. Like he did every time.

What an irony. Draco Malfoy wanted her, _a Mudblood_ , more than any pureblooded witch.

His lips teased her again. She was writhing under him like a snake. His tongue was exploring her mouth, her lungs burned from the lack of air. Divinity. His kisses were a drug. And Hermione was hooked. So deep into it that she probably wouldn’t be able to stop even if she wanted to.

Pulling away from each other only to get rid of all the clothes, they both hissed and growled as soon as skin touched skin. Electricity. The contrast was unbearable, blinding. _So so good._ Hermione moaned sweetly into his mouth once again.

More.

Not enough.

“Please,” she whimpered. _“Please please.”_

“What do you want, Mudblood?” Malfoy hissed, biting on her neck, grabbing her hips, and pressing into her, forcing her to feel all of him. “Tell me.”

 _You_ , she wanted to whimper.

He was so close it almost hurt to be separated. So bloody close. Inches away from where she needed him the most. He loved torturing her.

“Please-”

“Fucking tell me,” he growled. Needed the confirmation. Needed proof that the Golden Girl wanted him, rotten Death Eater scum to fuck her senseless into this very wall. Craved his cock inside of her and had the stomach to admit it out loud. It was humiliation enough.

“Want me to make you feel good?” Malfoy managed a crooked grin. “Want me inside of you, filth?”

She whimpered again, breathless, but didn’t say a word. Her mind was seething.

“Want to be fucked like a little slut you are?” he hissed grinning menacingly against her lips, his words barely a whisper. “Say it.”

_Say it and I’ll give it to you._

More.

His fingers lingered at her swollen lips, finding her drenched for him. He gave her a predatory grin. So resistant. So stubborn. Dirt. Tracing her skin the way he knew Granger liked it, Malfoy made her quiver. He lifted her, grabbing the back of her thighs, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips. Both moaned at the contact. He was pressed at her entrance, feeling the slick folds, gulping at the feeling. So close it hurt. Painfully delightful proximity. One movement and she’d be soaring.

Merlin, _please, closer._

She wasn’t aware of what was happening anymore. The only thing she wanted was him, next to her, above her, inside of her, and nothing else mattered. She’ll have time to hate herself later. All the time in the world. After being thoroughly shagged by him.

_Please please please._

She looked right into his eyes, raw burning need in them, and spit out with passion: _“Fuck you, Malfoy.”_

Rage consumed him, his face reddened, and then in one forceful abrupt motion, he thrust into her wet heat making the girl’s whole body tremor at the new feeling. So deep. So good. The friction… She cried out and started sobbing _oh_ so sweetly in his arms.

Yes.

_Yes._

They both moaned letting the sounds crash at the walls of the bathroom. Bliss. Pure bliss. Consuming and soul-ripping. And they both relished in that feeling like it was their last day on earth.

Perhaps he let her win this time. Draco will get his payback later.

Malfoy drew a shuddering breath, moving inside of her, gradually picking up the pace, slamming into the tiny body in his arms until he heard her scream with pleasure. Not enough air. Absolutely breathless. 

His fingers clenched in her hair, gripping her, holding her impossibly close.

Hermione pulsed around him, causing him to moan into her mouth and push into her again and again. More forcefully this time. Those abrupt movements drove her mad. The girl was a toy in his arms and loved it. She arched her back and moved her hips with his, taking him deeper. It was never enough. It was torture and delight.

They burned so fiercely, so brightly, madly, desperately. Their bodies practically writhed in the flames. Flames that melted all the thoughts creating a blissful vacuum in their heads. They burned so relentlessly every time, leaving behind only a pile of ashes. And then they came back to life like phoenixes. Were they truly alive? Their souls have long been trapped in the scorched limbo. They had nothing to lose.

It was an endless, cursed cycle of life and death. And the very moment of burning was the only one when the euphoria was blinding and the pain was blunted.

Let the world crumble.

Malfoy bit her neck once again, using her, leaving his marks, knowing full well that it’d be hard to cover them up afterward. He wanted everyone to see the filthy nature of the woman in his arms. Claiming her mouth once again, he relished in the sensation, tasting something sweet on her lips. His teeth ground onto them, urgent with his hunger for her.

Hermione’s breath caught. Every inch of him was so painfully delicious. Mouthwatering. Draco made her delirious with the need for release. She didn’t even notice his hands roaming all over her body, gripping, squeezing, _bruising_.

More. _Faster_.

It was so raw, untamed. Animalistic need. Almost an instinct. Each of them sought their own release not even caring about the other's. It was an act of selfishness as much as an act of unity, passion seeping from their bodies. They moved in sync. So close. So good. The friction was enough to make Hermione shake and thrash not even needing any additional stimulation.

He felt her walls fluttering around him. Her eyes closed shut, mouth opened, grip on his back intensified, nails digging into the skin, her breathing became shallow and irregular. She was holding on to the brink of reality.

Hermione almost choked on her own pleasure when it caught her, clenching tightly around him, making him grip her so tight she thought her bones might break. Draco quickened the pace pressing his face into her hair, completely delirious to everything else.

Hard. Deeper.

_Deeper._

Until there’s nothing but numbness in this head. Until Draco forgets his own name. Until the pain goes away leaving only bliss. Only pleasure. The world doesn’t exist.

Only her tight body, the heat of it, soft curves, and nothing after his release. Letting himself go, Malfoy barely managed to stand on his feet, feeling his own body give out. He had to lean on his hand pressed against the wall for stability. 

Nothing. Nothing. Numb.

No pain. No fears. No voice of consciousness. No dread or darkness.

 _Heavenly_.

Finally. The moment after a release – those few incredible seconds when the brain turns itself off – was everything for them both. They felt high, stoned, forgot who they were and whether past, present, and future even existed. They were in between worlds, floating somewhere, free of all the obligations and needs.

Sitting on the hard marble floor afterward - Hermione staring at the wall in front of her and Draco with his eyes closed - they tried to come to their senses.

“Malfoy?” she called in a hoarse voice, not even looking his way.

“Hmm?”

He was hovering, thriving in the peace of the moment. Draco didn’t even want to bicker with her.

So spent. So indifferent.

“This needs to stop,” she whispered, her voice firm. 

Malfoy chuckled.

“Stop lying to yourself, Granger. You know we won't. We tried. I accepted it,” he shrugged. This exact thought was ripping his mind apart for the last month - he had enough of the self-destructive ideas running in his head. This... whatever this was... it felt good. For the time being. And who the fuck cared what exactly made him feel like this? He certainly didn’t anymore.

“It's not healthy.”

A bloody hypocrite. Draco shook his head, amused with her behavior. The insufferable know-it-all couldn't go a minute without contemplating her life choices. Was it so hard for her to keep her mouth shut for a few bloody minutes? 

“You're the one to talk,” he grimaces, still keeping his eyes closed. “How many potions are you on now? Two? Three? You amuse me.”

“And you, a hereditary blood purist, are suddenly fine with shagging _a Mudblood_?”

The word left Granger’s lips so easily, so effortlessly, like it wasn’t the most unforgivable insult ever thrown her way. Who knew she’d change so much during the war?

Malfoy shrugged once again: “As long as no one knows, I don't give a damn.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Like you can ruin your reputation any further.”

Suddenly his eyes shot open but no icy death glare was sent her way. He looked at the girl almost nonchalantly, apathetically, and mockingly winced:

“Keep your mouth shut, Granger, you look much more appealing like that.”

“Was that a compliment?”

She grinned wryly, bitterly, looking at her life-long nemesis.

“Fuck you,” Draco rolled his eyes, brushing her off. He had no energy for witty remarks.

Silence filled the stuffy room, the humidity of it was driving them insane, but neither wanted to move. Both of them should’ve been long gone, far away from the memories, from the poison of each other’s presence, but they stayed, chatting like there weren’t seven years of animosity and hatred between them.

So what?

Hermione almost quivered from the controversy of the moment. After a minute of silence, she exhaled and finally managed a quiet:

“Merlin, I hate you so much. You make me sick.”

And she meant it with everything that she was.

Malfoy chuckled in response, not even remotely surprised with her words.

“The feeling's mutual. It's funny how you keep saying it every time we do it. Like you're punishing yourself for it. You sound pathetic, honestly,” Draco rolled his eyes, sighing.

“We're making a mistake.”

“And yet you keep coming back,” Malfoy raised his pale eyebrow. He stared at her, daring Granger to acknowledge the lack of meaning in her own words. He gave her a few moments to ponder and watched her take a deep breath. Granger was fighting herself again - the dumb little Gryffindor that she was – and then Hermione finally made up her mind, grasping at the scrapes of dignity she had left. Her lips formed a thin line, her words barely a whisper:

“Because I'm weak. I'm addicted to it... _to you_... You're poisonous. I hate how much I need this,” the girl gulped and shook her head, her eyes never leaving his silver ones. “Physically need you. And I bet you need me just as much.”

Hermione knew he would never admit it. Malfoy grinned.

“Look at you, Granger. Being all vulnerable in front of a big bad Death Eater. You truly are fucked up in the head.” They could afford to speak quietly, all the sounds sharpened and loud in the serenity of the prefect’s bathroom, but it seemed like neither could even master anything above a whisper. It’s like their voices were broken.

“You just realized that?” Hermione chuckled darkly. “You got it just as bad.”

“That is why we won't stop. No matter how much we want to. _We're the same, Granger._ We have the same scars,” the blonde scowled, something desperate shining in his eyes. “No one will ever understand what's happening to us.”

“And what is happening to us?” Her voice died down at the end of the sentence.

Draco clenched his teeth. 

“I don't know.”

Hermione grimaced, leaning forward, needing to share the desperation ripping her chest apart with the Slytherin in front of her.

“Oh, you do, alright? Just say it. Admit it,” the sourness of her tone almost made him shudder. _“We're drowning._ And we'll never recover. Don't you feel like you died in that war?”

“I died long before it even started,” Draco retorted coldly and snorted. “And this _new world_ is shit. There's no place in it for me.”

“For us,” the girl quickly added.

“Are you having a laugh? You're a war heroine, the beloved one-third of _the Harry Potter rescue squad_. This is your time to shine.”

“You know nothing, Malfoy,” she almost growled in response. “I wouldn't be here if that were true.”

A pause. The one that lasted forever. She whispered breathlessly, admitting it out loud for the first time: “I don't feel alive anymore.”

She was trembling.

Malfoy kept silent, musing, not knowing what to say. He didn’t have to calm her down or say things to make her feel better. He was not her friend. He was a nobody to her. Why would he bother? There was nothing he’d say that could take the pain away.

Malfoy was looking in the mirror, staring at her at this very moment.

His usually firm voice was hoarse, and Draco only managed to mutter:

“I hope someday I'll have the guts to take my own life.”

Hermione looked at him taking deep breaths, her vision blurred, lips dry. Poisonous silence was corrupting her mind. She whispered:

“Then I hope I won't meet you on the other side.”

He grinned darkly, apathetic to his own words like he wasn’t contemplating about life and death and the sweet divinity of the limbo. “No need to. There's no pain on the other side,” he almost smiled, as if talking about the only thing in the world that made him happy. “I just want it to be over.”

Silence again. So destructive. So dangerous. So many wrong words could be buried in the mystery of it.

Suddenly, Hermione closed her eyes and grinned, throwing her head back. Biting her lip, the girl chuckled: “Look at you being all vulnerable in front of the little swotty Golden Girl.”

“Oh, shut it.”

She laughed. Actually laughed, her lips curving in a smile none of her closest friends was able to see these days. But Draco did. And the insanity of it was blinding.

Malfoy smirked, not knowing how in the world he found himself in this situation. But for some reason stopping this whole charade felt incredibly wrong.

Those were the moments when their souls left the confinements of their chests and were able to soar and float, twirling in the stuffy air. This place was timeless – it was a whole universe inside of a small room.

Someday all of it will be over.

But until then, it was all they had – brief moments of light in the everlasting darkness, release when skin touched skin, and the lingering feeling of hope.

Maybe in the next life they will be reborn as beautiful phoenixes. As something exceptional and wonderful and worthy. Now they were just two piles of ashes, twirling and intertwining in the air, as the cold flow of the wind swept them off the marble floor.


End file.
